by Tom Newton
Alexis hated the fact that he had used the word ’sir’. It grated on him. It had slipped out unintentionally and somehow diminished his resolve, as a worm from within. It was just this relationship between peasant and aristocrat that he wished to destroy, most likely by eradicating the latter. None of this was lost on Strange. Both men knew it, which only made Alexis feel more impotent. He did not understand Strange at all. He knew nothing about him. No one did. All that was available was conjecture and speculation: he was a British aristocrat who dallied in archaeology. One of those entitled people who believed they had the right to extract the riches from the soil of a country not their own and keep the proceeds. It was a further insult that Strange had an air of superiority which would tolerate no doubt. The use of ’sir’ only abetted it. Alexis looked at him with loathing. The man was an imperialist anachronism. His day would soon be done. However, he must have had ties to the British government. All these people were agents. How else could he have provided arms and other assistance in certain matters? His day was not quite done yet.
What girl are you referring to?
The one who works for you. Ariadne.
Alexis was a hard man, made harder by the war. He had seen his village razed and his father executed along with his two brothers. His aims were simple – kill Germans. After that he would fight to establish a communist state. He had educated himself by reading all the communist literature he could come across. Strange had helped there too.
There was another side to Alexis that made him uncomfortable. He had become a faith-healer. It was not from personal choice but birthright. The village from which he and his ancestors had come was a poor place. The villagers had always struggled for survival and doctors were beyond their means. There were no doctors. They had always turned to his family for their medical needs. A tradition rooted deep in time had made them healers. It was a gift that had been mysteriously passed down the male line to the present. Now it fell to him, as his father and brothers were dead. His mother had told him that he must step up.
I am no healer. I know nothing about it. I am a fighter and revolutionary. I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in God or magic.
What you think is not important. You must help your people. They believe in you. If you don’t, then who are you?
So he became the healer for his people without a village. His cures grew ever more effective, even better than his father’s, and as this happened he found himself beginning to question his other identity. It was unsettling.
Why do you want her?
Since the withdrawal of the Germans to the North, the partisans were emboldened, seeing an end in sight, they had started to round up collaborators and to dispense vengeful justice.
She has committed the crime of consorting with the enemy. She must answer to a People’s Court.
You and your cronies, I assume. Well I’m afraid you can’t have her.
We’ll see about that.
We will indeed. Good day.
The door was firmly shut.
20
Dusk was finally occurring. Franz decided to take the woman up on her offer and rent a room. He needed sleep. The inside of the building was a large space with a gallery running around it. He could see arched doorways above. There was an open kitchen spanning the length of one wall. There he found her preparing food. He gave her one of his sovereigns and she said he could stay for a month. She did not offer change. The old man appeared and led him up the stairs to his room. It was clean and simple, high-ceilinged and medium-sized. The walls were white with no other decoration. It contained a bed, a wash basin and a jug of water. There was a large window. He liked it. The Chinese man indicated that the facilities were down the hall.
When he was alone, Franz opened the window and looked out. It was dark but he could see that the ground level was higher this side of the building than at the front. He went out again to retrieve a few items from his vehicle, but when he crossed the square to where he had parked, he noticed that the hearse was gone. He looked up and down the single street and saw nothing. It must have been stolen. Had he not been so tired, he might have been more upset. Instead he just turned and walked back. In place of the rock was a large reclining nude. He went up to his room and slept deeply.
In the morning he looked out of the window again. The ground level was definitely higher, which meant the building was set on a hill. That was mysterious because he had not noticed any hills when he’d arrived. The land had been completely flat. He made out a track, winding its way up the slope opposite his window. He breakfasted on the terrace, black coffee and bread. Afterwards he went out to look for the car. It was still missing so he decided to go around behind the building and look at the track. It proved impossible to get there. He walked to the edge but then was filled with dread and could not bring himself to go further. He made several attempts, walking away and then returning. The sense of foreboding would diminish and then increase. It was the same every time.
He gave up and climbed the big staircase. He was lonely. He put his head out of the window and looked again in all directions. He felt the exterior walls with his hands. There had to be an explanation. He sat upon the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. He thought of the supernatural but he was not convinced. The problem had to lie with him. He had always been equable, comfortable with himself and not overly introspective. Now a very localised agoraphobia had appeared from nowhere. He might be more damaged than he’d thought. In every other respect he felt perfectly well. At least he was not frightened of the window. He would go out that way.
The ground below was not far.
21
Ariadne needed a plan of action but new ideas evaded her, so she took a walk along the waterfront. She liked the boats gently rocking at their moorings. The water close to shore was dirty with oil, further out it was a pure azure blue. Her feet occasionally disturbed a lizard sunning itself on the crumbling cement. There was a man sitting on the dock ahead of her, his feet hanging over the edge. He looked preoccupied, forlorn, gazing out to sea.
She had enjoyed herself dancing with the British officer Purvis. Though he was not her type, he was fun to be with and generous. She had managed to resist his advances without offending him and he had intimated, upon parting, that he might be able to give her a job.
By now she had reached the man on the dock.
Are you lost?
You could say that.
Where are you trying to go?
That’s part of the problem. I’m not sure. I was trying to go to Paris.
He was German. She could tell that. He had a profundity wrapped up in practicality. Interesting.
Would you like to join me for a coffee, or something else if you prefer? You can tell me your story.
She was talking to him in German. She was slim and dark and pale. She looked kind.
That would be nice.
Do you speak any other language?
I speak English.
Good. That would probably be better.
Franz heaved himself up and they walked off side by side.
22
The Junior School
Brighton College
Sussex
25th March, 1945
My dear Purvis,
Thank you so much for your recent letter – all the more because it tells me that you are still going strong. We still peg away at Brighton though you would find the place somewhat different from the old days. We have been through quite a sticky time and frequently wondered if we were wise to stay put in what was generally assumed to be a danger spot. However the place was never actually hit though on occasion the Hun dropped his load unpleasantly near. At the beginning of the war I was switched over to take charge of what was left of the old B.C. Prep school – actually the numbers were 7 boarders and 30 Day Boys all housed in the old Bristol House. In spite of the war atmosphere I managed to increase the numbers steadily and now we have 40 Boarders & 55 D boys – a close fit!! It is hard work & frequentl
y irritating but I like it, especially as it is an independent command and I am my own master within reasonable limits. My sister keeps house and Miss Fenwick is still with us. Charles Allen still functions but he is within a few months of the statutory retiring age (60) though it is likely that he will see the war through. He leads a worried existence as his third son is a flight engineer in the Pathfinders and the eldest an instructor in the R.A.F. The second son, John, was killed in a bomber some time ago and his death upset C.R.A. considerably. Hughes, tho’ now 62, still teaches but will be glad to give it up when the war ends. We are very lucky in Mr. Heath’s successor – A.C. Stuart Clark who is a very live wire indeed and has the needful energy at 38 to put his ideas into force. Owing to the war we have had very little music though last term we had quite a good orchestral concert and another is scheduled for next term. As an Xmas celebration “The Fourth Wall” was very well done and at a very well attended Carol Service there was a collection for the prisoners of war for whom we collected £150. In common with a great many other people, we are hoping that 1945 will see the end of war. It is the school’s centenary at which we hope to see as many OBs as possible. You probably have read the Centenary Endowment Appeal with which we hope – rather ambitiously, perhaps – to raise £50,000 for scholarships etc.
It will make all the difference to the prospects of the school if everyone will help according to their means. I hear frequently from various OBs though it is difficult to remember which of them were contemporaries of yours. If you get some home leave, I hope you will find the time to pay us a visit. Till then, Best of luck.
Yours ever
J.L.B. Nokes
23
Ariadne and Franz never found a place that could serve them real coffee. She wanted to avoid the black market establishments, so they kept walking and ended up sitting in the dust by some ruins. Franz noticed a name carved in one of the stones. It was beautifully executed and seemed like a prodigious amount of work for a mere doodling in rock. It must have taken a long time. Perhaps there was more time available in the past.
BYRON
He wondered if it had been carved by the poet himself. The one whose name he recognized but otherwise knew so little about. She said it was.
He told her his story, or some of it at least. He recounted how he had driven into France with a friend, but not why, and how they had become mired in traffic. How he had turned off the road to find that the crowds had dispersed and the land had become desert. He told her how his friend had vanished and how he had arrived in a strange town where a boulder at its centre had turned into a nude. He went on to describe the hotel and the theft of his car.
What do you make of that?
Ariadne had no idea what to make of it but she was intrigued. He seemed so earnest that she wanted to believe him, though his story made no sense. She had certainly never heard of the town or hotel he mentioned. She was very familiar with the area. If they existed, she would know about them. She was left in the lonely spot between belief and disbelief. Where could she go from there?
You should come back with me and I’ll show you.
He knew the way. His sense of direction was good. He would find it, assuming it was still there. Then they could eat together on the terrace and drink real coffee. The decision was easy. She liked Franz, she would go with him.
This time he led the way, back to the dock and out of the town, up the hill and on to a track she had never been aware of before. The air smelled better, imbued with pine and wild herbs. Eventually they arrived outside the window. He gave her a leg up and then pulled himself in behind her. Once inside, he went down the hallway to wash, preferring a tap to the pitcher in his room. He returned to find Ariadne stretched naked across the bed. The implication of her nakedness surprised him. It was exciting but also made him feel a little uneasy. He was not used to women who expressed their desires so directly but it was an uneasiness not difficult to overcome.
As he tore off his clothes, he saw the slight and perfect prominence of her hip bones. She said nothing but lay there with her head back. Her pubic hair was fine and lighter than the rest of her. Desire was mutual and unspoken.
Afterwards, she drew on an English cigarette and exhaled. He watched the smoke stretch and drift off towards invisibility. Sex brought peace that he had not felt since the Gestapo plucked him from the street. He brushed some ash away from her shoulder where she had let it fall. He had no idea what she was thinking and she made no effort to enlighten him.
They dressed and went downstairs. They passed by the kitchen where the day’s food was laid out in chafing dishes and continued to the terrace, where they sat themselves at a table. The old man approached.
Can we have food please?
Franz had quickly learned that there was no menu in this restaurant. You did not order. You ate what was presented to you. If you liked, you could inspect the food in the kitchen beforehand but beyond that there was no choice. They were given three bowls: white beans, roasted potatoes and vegetable stew. The old man glanced at Ariadne and then at Franz as he served them.
She your wife?
No. We’re friends.
You son of a gun. He cackled.
There were neither plates nor utensils. They ate with their hands, using pieces of bread to scoop food from the bowls. Ariadne licked her fingers.
This food is wonderful. I haven’t tasted anything like it in years. How can it be possible? The war has caused such scarcity.
That’s because this is a different place. There is no war here. There isn’t much here at all.
Franz poured them some wine. There was a calmness to this place, deliberate almost. It was frozen in the sun. Ariadne wondered if Strange knew about it or had anything to do with it.
I work for a man called Lord Strange. He’s an English archaeologist I think. Well off. You should come up with me and meet him sometime. I bet you would like him. He might even give you a job. He employs all kinds of people. He’s generous that way.
Franz shrugged.
I’m not sure a job is what I need at the moment.
He crushed a bean against his palate.
When they had finished eating, Franz showed Ariadne around the square. He managed to steer her away from the corner of the building, which still bothered him. They stood awhile by the giant nude in the sun. There really was not much else to see. He was half-expecting Two Point Seven to walk by, and looked into the desert. He was going to have to walk out there.
Still no sign of the car.
24
After Ariadne had left through the window in his room, Franz went into the desert. He did not intend to go far. It was a reconnoitre. He would go further next time. He felt like a goldfish introduced to a new tank. He kept on the lookout for Two Point Seven but there was nothing but emptiness around him. He had never experienced such a geographical stillness before. He was surprised then to see two people coming towards him, a man and a woman. He gave them a nod, as they passed, but they did not seem to notice. It was as if they were dreaming. Not long after that he saw a cloud of steam in the sky which, he soon realised, issued from a locomotive. It crawled by in the distance, pulling a train of carriages. He could not decide which was more disconcerting, the overall lack of life or the sudden evidence of it. If there was life here, it was disconnected from him. He was merely an observer. It created in him the sensation of a cerebral floating. He barely felt his legs work and when he looked down at his feet, they seemed to belong to someone else. A flashing light that caught his eye became an aircraft, with the sunlight bouncing from its surfaces. It was undamaged and pristine, a German fighter, standing alone on the sand. An ME 109. The silence around him was so complete that he listened to the blood in his own head. The canopy was open. On the ground lay a naked man. He was a boy really, barely in his twenties. He had a bullet hole through his forehead.
Franz did not go closer, he had no desire to learn more. He suffered a pang of fear. He thought of his missed meeting with
the Führer. This sight was an awakening from ignorance. Could they reach him here? He had come further than he wanted and had seen more than he expected to, yet he was not ready to turn back. The desert kept beckoning him and it was becoming more fecund. Ground cover with little white flowers had replaced the parched soil. Clumps of tall grasses were more frequent. This burgeoning vegetation led to a ruined village. A few structures were partially standing, ringed by a stone wall. As he walked along it he came upon a low, wooden door. He pushed it open and stooped to go through. Inside was an overgrown courtyard or perhaps a garden. He trudged through dense weeds that reached his waist and found two colossal statues of bronze, lying side by side, the Führer and the Duce, both riddled with bullets.
Was this the past or the future?
He shut the door behind him.
25
Am I a killing healer or a healing killer?
This question troubled Alexis. That morning he had knifed a German whore as she knelt before him crying and begging for her life. Afterwards he had helped an old woman with back pain. Later he would deal with a black marketeer who had catered to the enemy at the expense of everyone else. Killing people had become easy for him, especially as he was driven by justice and hatred. Healing was much harder. It was an obstacle that constantly interfered with his identity and it was growing ever more powerful. It was a rapidly spreading infection which he could no longer ignore.
He crumbled out the cigarette between his fingers. On the periphery of his vision he saw Ariadne walking ahead of him. She had not seen him. Quietly, he quickened his pace and got right up behind her before she noticed him. It was too late for her to run. She felt her legs weaken. His gaunt face looked down on her.
Beautiful Ariadne, it’s time to atone for your crimes.
Fear caught the words in her throat.
Alexis. You loved me once.
I did, before I discovered your true nature.